[...]
Days had passed in the camp of the natives and the captive sailors had gradually adapted to the new living conditions. They did not really have a choice; they had to bend to the rules of the majority. Their occupations were not very varied and their walkabouts were watched closely. They would never leave the camp without the surveillance of a clan member. Attitudes regarding the “strangers” varied according to the perception of the inhabitants.
“No need to keep an eye on the white souls, where can they go? Should they leave our camp they will encounter the dangers of the wilderness,” the chief of the clan pronounced.
The trapper standing in front of him expressed another point of view:
"We cannot leave these men without exterior surveillance,” his words opposed openly the will of the leader. This was something hardly ever encountered, and surely uncommon in those days.
Contradict the leader, and speaking against his opinions in his own shelter was even worse. The old man stood proudly beneath the fire, turning his back on the trapper. His headdress was hardly to be seen in the smoke covering his shelter. Temperature was rising and not only due to the warmth but also conditioned by that unwholesome atmosphere. After a moment of silence the trapper eventually left the chief’s home. Outside he could see his wives sitting nearby. Brothers and warriors were relaxing in the surroundings. Each of them stared at the hunter, as if they all knew what had happened. As if they wanted to protect their leader, ready for revenge. Without looking at them, the man disappeared behind the tents and shelters.
On his own in his refuge, the leader sat down next to the fire. He looked into the flames, searching for some wisdom, aiming for some kind of truth.
“So far did I come. So far did I make it, and I wouldn’t have made it without my men. How could I? Men and women are essential to our people. They are the basis we build upon,” sweat was dropping down his face, humidity and heat filled the air, the man was in a trance.
“Now I’ve got to face it, the will of the politics. These white men cannot do without the policy, they always have to decide on everything. But here the white man is on our territory. He will not decide for us, we will decide for him.” Filled with a desire to direct actions the leader cast open the bearskin serving as door to his shelter. He stood erect in front of his counsel: seeing them was serving him well. He realized again where he belonged. His people smiled at him and he smiled back. He lifted his fist and proclaimed the counsel should meet at night.
“Me people, I bet you realized that things have changed since these last days and weeks.” The counsel sat around the fire and the heads of the warriors moved approvingly to the first words of the leader. No one dared respond, they all sensed it was but an overture to a greater speech. The chief went on:
“Now the arrival of these men, from the vessels out on the bay of the Hochelaga River, that is at the origin of the turmoil. You can feel it, everyone’s scared in the village, these men brought with them the inquietude, a fear that had never existed before. It seems to me there’s a part of trust that has vanished since these men are here.”
“Good to analyze, but how should we face the situation?” one of the wise men spoke out.
“This is exactly why I called upon the counsel.,” the old man responded promptly.
“I can tell you how you need to act,” came a voice from behind the circle of wise men. The men turned their heads and could eventually see a dirty man step into the light. There he was, creeping out of the dark with his deathly design. The man of the wild stepped next to the fire and cast a handful of gunpowder in the fire. The blaze of the fire grew tremendously in the sky. The men stood up and stepped back for fear of burning.
“Now this is what will happen to you, to all of you people if you keep the rot in your clan. Yeah, these sailors are rot, nothing but a waste to the harmony that has existed in your clan, remember, not too long ago!” While he smiled his rotten teeth cast a yellow glow in the darkness. The trapper had planned every part of his speech. His ambition was to manipulate the natives, set through the will of the English Crown. His main will was to serve the King even if this meant creating a new war.
The glow of the fire returned to normal when one of the warriors started:
“What are we waiting for, then, let’s just chase these men from our camp!” as he hissed his tomahawk the trapper felt almost satisfied.
“Wouldn’t it be better to let them just go, without harm, just let them go away, let them flee in the country,” a wiser parole pronounced “they cannot go too far ere they shall starve in the wilderness.
Dissatisfied by this argument the trapper frowned in the dark and began:
“And imagine they get through it, not all of them but perhaps one or two. Now what will they do? Forget about the clan, forget about their poor treatment here in the village? No way, Sir, they will seek for revenge. They will call upon their people and come back to take their revenge.” The pitch and tone of his voice added some drama to the situation. “Believe me, I know these French and I know about their will of conquering, their ambition to win.”
“Let’s go wake them and kill them tonight,” the warriors had sensed the inherent urgency of the situation.
This time the trapper smiled in the black of the night: his plan had worked.
© 2016 Matt Oehler
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